


Grey Tinted Glasses

by badwolf



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: And I Mean That I Have The Bibliography In The Footnotes To Back That Claim Up, Canon-Typical Violence, Discussion of Witnessed Past Sexual Violence, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes About Homosexuality, Seriously There Is A Bibliography In The Footnotes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:55:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26275252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolf/pseuds/badwolf
Summary: In which Booker's traumas colour his perception and everyone jumps to conclusions.
Relationships: Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Trauma, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 43
Kudos: 293





	Grey Tinted Glasses

**Author's Note:**

> As always, huge thanks for the beta to my platonic life partner Nat!  
> Also another massive shout out to Kate The Italian Lesbian Archeologist™ who let me pick her brain for my fanfic despite her needing to write her dissertation right now.

It’s late when Sébastien returns to their shared flat. The pub had closed and Andy elected to stay behind and help the barmaid clean up. The way the pair had been deep in conversation probably meant Andy would stay there for several more hours. 

Hopefully, Yusuf and Nicolò were long asleep and not witnesses to his inelegant drunk stumblings. Now was not the time for their soft concerned stares. Sebastian much preferred Andy’s punch on the shoulder and offer of the first round to another conversation about his feelings. 

The light leaking under the door in their shared room dashes that hope. Perhaps he could still escape to his and Andy’s room, they would respect the sanctity of a shut door. 

_That Sound_ cuts his plotting short. It is small, easily missed if Sebastian had not already been listening for any sign of life from within the room. But recognition turns _That Sound_ deafening. 

As gracefully as he can, Sebastian stalks closer to the room. The door is pulled almost to, but ajar enough to see past. It gives Sebastian the perfect view of the violence within. 

Nicolò has Yusuf half bent over the side of the bed. Their backs are to the door but the angle Yusuf lays at lets Sebastian see the pained expressions fluttering across Yusuf’s face. _That Sound_ escapes Yusuf again, louder this time. 

Both men are fully dressed, their clothing in disarray just enough for the act but easily righted if they were in danger of discovery. The coward in Sebastian wishes Nicolò had heard him open the front door. Shame flushes through him at the thought. No, he wishes this wasn’t happening at all. 

But it is.

It was clear enough what Nicolò was doing with just a glance. The way his hands clutch at and pin Yusuf down, _That Sound_ being forced out of Yusuf. Suddenly the broiling Czech night turns freezing, so cold he should be able to see his breath. A roaring in his ears blots out reality, deafening all other noise but the crying. Little hurt noises being forced out behind him as he passes his superior’s tent. Stifled cries from the bedroll next to him. Screams from the prisoner barracks. 

God forgive him, he had walked away before. Pretended he didn’t hear the begging and pleading for help. He won’t ignore Yusuf’s pain now. He can’t. 

The attack is fast. Sebastian slips the dagger between Nicolò’s ribs and into his right lung (just like Nicolò taught him to) before either man even realizes the threat. 

He leaves the knife embedded in Nicolò’s side, maybe it will slow his regeneration down. Buy them some time. 

Some time for what he isn’t sure. There are too many unknowns. Is Andy aware of Nicolò’s perversions? Is it safe to bring Yusuf to her? She must know, how could she not? That woman sees everything, thousands of years of practice giving her near psychic senses. 

What vipers nest has he blindly walked into? If Andy is allowing this what other cruelties where they hiding from him behind this facade? Could he trust anything they had told him? The dreams had been so fragmented and chaotic, it had been easy enough to slot them into the narrative Andy had weaved for him. But everything was in free-fall now. Perhaps his nightmares of Quynh had been a warning after all. 

They can’t go to Andy then, they will have to run. 

A bitter wave of nausea rolls over him at the realization but Sebastian shoves it down. There will be time for disappointment later, to pick apart why he fell for their bullshit about helping people, to make sure it never happens again. First, he needs to get Yusuf to safety. 

“Yusuf?” Sebastian reaches for him, hesitant and unsure. Perhaps touching him isn’t a good idea, but they need to leave before Nicolò revives. Sebastian is a good enough fighter; Nicolò makes him look like a clumsy child with ease. 

Viper quick, Yusuf snatches Sebastian’s hand and drags him in. With the same movement, Yusuf throws himself out of the bed and into Sebastian. 

Reassurances die in Sebastian’s throat as Yusuf latches one hand onto his windpipe. The other hand finds purchase in Sebastian’s greasy hair, the thousand tiny pains making him gasp as best he can with no air. Yusuf’s normally beautiful brown eyes are consumed with a quiet fury. 

It’s the last thing Sebastian sees before Yusuf breaks his neck. 

Sebastian’s spine has already healed when he next awakes, the broken bone and severed nerves such a small injury for the total destruction it could cause.

Nicolò is speaking too fast, too heated, for Sebastian’s infantile grasp on Arabic to keep up. But his tone is unmistakable. Yusuf’s calmer voice joins the mix, an imploring undercurrent to the flow of his voice. 

“Pleas-,” a cough cuts him off, his lungs stiff and painful from his death. “Don’t hurt him!” Maybe he can still salvage this, or at least shield Yusuf from the worst of it. Not like Sebastian can’t take it.

Both men fall silent at his words. Sebastian takes the opportunity to push himself up from the ungainly sprawl his corpse had collapsed to. They had just left him where he’d fallen, it seems. At least this time there was no blood to clean out of the carpet.

“Stay down,” Nicolò’s kick lacks true force, closer to a shove than a strike, but it’s still enough to knock Sebastian prone again. 

“Please,” Sebastian tries. He shifts to his side, risking a glance up at the pair. Nicolò stands above him, a wall of ice. His agitation only noticeable in how he was fiddling with Sebastian’s bloody dagger. He is still shirtless but at least his pants are done up. At least he currently makes no move to undo them.

“Explain yourself,” Nicolò is deadly calm as he spits the words out. Sebastian knows Nicolò is capable of speaking perfect Parisian accented French when he wants to. Either his rage robs him of the skill or he deems Sebastian not worth the effort.

Sebastian remains silent. There is no explanation that will appease Nicolò.

“Sebastian,” Yusuf draws his attention back to him. He is further back than Nicolò and in a similar state of semi-dress. “What did you mean ‘don’t hurt him’?” 

Nicolò snaps something at Yusuf without taking his eyes off Sebastian. The tone is sharp enough Sebastian flinches back from it. But Yusuf answers back just as quickly. Nicolò steps back, his body language clear and mocking, the floor is Yusuf’s.

“When you first woke up you said ‘don’t hurt him’.” Yusuf steps forward and kneels down to Sebastian's level. “Why did you think Nicolò would hurt me, Sebastian?”

Again, there is no answer to that, not with Nicolò right there. Sebastian looks quickly from Yusuf’s face to Nicolò’s, silently begging him to stop for both their sakes.

“Is that why you killed Nicolò?” Yusuf presses on. “You thought he was hurting me?”

Nicolò’s huff of irritation cuts off anything Sebastian could say. He steps forward again, gesturing at Sebastian with a look of disgust, clearly winding himself up for an argument.

“No,” Yusuf cuts him off. They slip back into a language Sebastian doesn’t even recognize, it sounds like the ugly bastard child of Italian and French, none of the words make sense no matter how much they sound like they should. The bickering ends after only a few rounds, Yusuf the apparent victor as Nicolò retreats out of the room. 

“Please,” Yusuf turns back to him, all traces of the argument gone from his face. Sebastian pulls himself up until he’s slouched against the bed’s footboard. Yusuf must know by now he saw them. Why is he dragging it out and making Sebastian say it?

“I saw him hurting you, Yusuf.” It feels wrong to say out loud, to be discussing this with Yusuf like it was nothing.

“It’s not what it looked like,” Yusuf says. “Nicolò wasn’t hurting me, Sebastian. He loves me.”

“That’s not love,” Sebastian half begs, he has seen this before too. 

Yusuf practically spits rapid-fire Arabic at Sebastian as he stands and paces away. He takes a second to collect himself before turning back. “Sebastian, I know this is hard to understand but what me and Nicolò have is on par with anything a husband has ever felt for a wife. You don’t have to agre-”

“I don’t care that you’re a pederast, Yusuf!” Sebastian cuts him off, the desperation in his voice silencing Yusuf more than the volume. “I’ve known men like you before, the circles I ran in before the war no one cared as long as it didn’t bring the police’s attention our way. I’ve seen this before, men whose lovers hurt them, but they stayed anyway because they think the hurting is better than being alone. I’ve seen what Nicolò was doing to you before! Please! I can’t just let it happen again!”

“Nicolò was not hurting me,” Yusuf says, slow and deliberate in perfect French. He kneels back down to Sebastian's level, his expression almost painfully earnest. “I wish I could say we have never hurt each other, but that is not the truth. No, we have, but not like that. Sebastian, what you are describing is nothing like what me and Nicolò have with each other. Nicolò would rather geld himself that hurt someone like what you are thinking. If you had walked in five minutes earlier you would have overheard me begging Nicolò to take me. If you have walked in even a minute later you would have seen the evidence of how pleasurable the act can be. I am sorry you misunderstood.”

Oh.

Heat licks up Sebastian's face at the realization. At his own stupidity. Perhaps they will let him stay if he begs hard enough, apologies for his transgression, offers some kind of penance.

Shame follows quickly on the heels of the embarrassment. How could he have thought so poorly of his compatriots? How can he ever face Andy again knowing how quickly his thoughts betrayed them all. 

“Sebastian,” Yusuf calls him back from the edge of his spiralling thoughts. He is looking at Sebastian oddly now, less like he was restraining himself from striking out and more like he was restraining himself from reaching out. “What did you mean again?”

“What?” The ground shifts beneath Sebastian's feet. 

“You said I can’t let it happen again.” Nicolò had rejoined them, at some point. He had probably listened to the entire exchange. He placed the dagger down on the dresser as he passed it by, pity now chasing away the anger in his eyes.

Sebastian knows he could refuse, simply stop answering them. They wouldn’t torture it from him, no matter how frustrated they became. But strangely, he doesn’t want to close himself off from them now. 

“The emperor decreed any soldier found guilty of forcing himself on a civilian woman was to be publicly hanged,” Sebastian keeps his tone flat, reciting the facts. His voice still wobbles as the memory constricts his chest. “We were the grand army of the empire after all, not roving bands of thieves. But no one gave a shit what you did with a prisoner. And if you had enough stripes on your sleeve no one cared what you did with the new recruits, long as you were discreet enough.” 

Nicolò opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. 

“It wasn’t me,” Sebastian reassures them. “A few months into my sentence, there was a new recruit added to our unit, our commanding officer took a liking to him. And the rest of us looked away. And we would keep walking past his tent, pretending not to hear what happened in there. Or we would roll over in our pallets and pretend we didn’t hear what happened on the bedroll next to us.

“That was the worst part,” Sebastian angrily wipes at his tears. Now the damn had broken and he needed to get it all out. “Never knowing if we would be able to sleep through the night or not. Every small noise putting you on edge, it might be him coming into the tent or it was just some patrol walking by. You stop hearing the cannons when they are being fired so routinely. He would creep into our tent seemingly at random. Three times one week then nothing the next. Fucker was probably doing it on purpose.”

“Oh Sebastian,” it is more a sign than proper speech but Sebastian hears it all the same. Nicolò reaches out his hand, helping Yusuf haul Sebastian to his feet then steading him when he stumbles. The room dims and distorts under the influence of both wine and tears.  
Nicolò pulls him into a great bear hug.

“I’m sorry I stabbed you,” Sebastian speaks to the floor, not wanting to break the contact but unable to bear the shame of his stupidity any longer. 

“Think nothing of it,” Nicolò reassures him, releasing him from the huh but not stepping out of his space. “You thought you were protecting Yusuf, I could never be angry over that.” 

Sebastian shifts from one foot to the other as an awkward silence descends on the room. He attempts to pull himself together and prepares to take his leave.

“Stay,” Yusuf cuts him off. “You’re still upset, I don’t know if being on your own tonight is a good idea.”

“Andy will be back soon,” Sebastian argues. “She wanted to speak with the barmaid before we leave town.”

Nicolò and Yusuf both chuckle at him, then again at Sebastian's confused expression.

“She maybe be back by dawn, at the earliest,” Nicolò informs him. “Please stay, I find that human contact helps chase away the memories sometimes.”

For the first time that night, Sebastian takes the room in properly. Yusuf and Nicolò have shoved the two beds together, forming a larger bed that he is still skeptical all three could sleep on. But Nicolò is right, the past still snaps at his heels, even now. With a nod, he relents and lets Yusuf guide him to the bed. 

It is just verging upon being a tight fit, but all three men manage to make themselves comfortable. Sebastian plans to wait the others out then retreat to his own bed, but the gentle rhythm of Nicolò and Yusuf conversing in yet another mystery langage lulls him off before he can do more than plan.

**Author's Note:**

> Bibliography  
> 1)Blidon, M. (2015). When silence reigns: Sexuality, affect, and space in soldiers’ memoirs of the napoleonic wars. _Historical Geography_ , 43(17-36)  
> 2)Napoleon Bonaparte, “Address to the Army of Egypt,” Napoleon: Symbol for an Age, A Brief History with Documents, ed. Rafe Blaufarb (New York: Bedford/St. Martin’s, 2008), 44; J. David Markham, _Napoleon for Dummies: A Guide for the Rest of Us!_ , (Hoboken: Wiley Publishing, Inc., 2005), 106.  
> 3)Sibalis, M. D. (1996). The regulation of male homosexuality in revolutionary and napoleonic france, 1789–1815. New York: Oxford University Press.


End file.
